The Match Girl and the Phantom
by MoonlightDutchess
Summary: What if Christine were the little match girl? Cold and exhausted, little Christine falls asleep in someone's doorway. But whose? My first fanfic so be kind! Oneshot.
1. Beginnings

**A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first fanfic, so be kind in reviews please! I started thinking about this story after attending a performance of the Conspirare Choir featuring _The Little Match Girl Passion._**

**DISCLAIMER: Phantom of the Opera belongs to Leroux and Webber; The Little Match Girl belongs to Andersen and Lang**

It was terribly cold and nearly dark on the last evening of the old year, and the snow was falling fast. In the cold and the darkness, seven year old Christine stumbled through the streets. She had had on a pair of slippers when she left home, but had lost them in running across the street to avoid two carriages that were rolling along at a terrible rate. One had been seized upon by a dog who ran away with it down a alleyway, and the other she could not find. So little Christine went on barefoot.

In an old apron she carried a number of matches, and had a bundle of them in her hands. She had not sold one match the whole day, nor had anyone given her so much as a penny. She dared not return home, for she knew that if she did not bring home any money her father would surely beat her. Besides, it was hardly warmer in their little flat than out here in the cold streets of Paris. Cold and exhausted, Christine curled up on a doorstep and soon fell fast asleep.

Thirteen year old Erik sat in his chair by the fire, reading a book. He was waiting for his guardian, Nadir, to return with food for their New Year's dinner. Suddenly, the door burst open and Nadir stumbled in, holding a little girl in his arms. Her lips were blue and the hem of her ragged little dress was caked with mud, but little Erik thought she looked like an angel.

"I found her on the doorstep," said Nadir, gently laying the unconscious Christine down on the little sofa, "She's nearly frozen, Erik! Fetch a blanket!" Erik ran upstairs and retrieved the quilt from his bed. He gently wrapped it around the sleeping girl, trying to touch her as little as possible. Surely she would not wish to come in contact with _his_ monstrous skin. After a few moments, Christine's eyes opened, and she beheld a skinny little boy in a black mask standing over her.

"Are you my angel?" little Christine asked, her blue eyes widening. Nadir laughed.

"I think she likes you, Erik," he said, grinning at the boy. Tears welled up in Erik's golden eyes. He had been called many things in his short life, but never angel. He began to cry.

"Don't cry, angel!" Christine said, sitting up and wrapping her arms around him, "We're in Heaven, aren't we? Nobody needs to cry in Heaven!" Erik hugged her back.

"I am no angel," he said through his tears, "And this is no Heaven. You were asleep on our doorstep, and Nadir brought you inside."

"Oh," she said. Erik thought she would pull away when she learned he was not an angel, but she didn't. He was crying, and in Christine's experience, people who were crying needed hugs. So she kept hugging him.

"My name's Christine," she said after a few minutes, "What's your name?"

"Erik," he said shyly.

"Can we be friends, Erik?" she asked, hugging him tighter, "I like you."

"I like you too, Christine," he said. Nadir smiled at the pair of them. Erik rarely had the opportunity to talk to other children, and here was this sweet little girl who seemed to have taken a fancy to him. Nadir hoped they would become great friends.

"Would you like to celebrate New Year's with us, miss Christine?" Nadir said, smiling. Christine nodded vigorously.

"Oh yes, monsieur, if it's quite alright," she said, politely. That evening, they enjoyed the first of what would be many pleasant dinners gathered around Nadir's large mahogany table.


	2. A New Home

**Aaaaaaand we're back! Due to popular demand, I've decided to continue this. Special thanks and a hugs from little Erik and Christine go to: Fleur du Feu, IamthePhantomoftheOpera, GivenCircumstances, and Suindara. Thanks for encouraging me to continue!**

After dinner, Christine went over to the window and looked outside. The snow was still falling, blanketing Paris in white. She turned to look at Erik and Nadir.

"Snow is pretty," she said, then frowned, "But it hurts." She pointed to her feet, which were still red and blue with frostbite. Nadir gasped.

"Erik, go get some warm water in a bucket. Miss Christine, sit down on the couch, if you will. We have to be fast, or you may loose some of your toes," he said. Erik ran off, and returned a moment later with a bucket of warm water which was sloshing wildly due to the fact that he was running. He set it down on the floor in front of where little Christine sat on the couch. She had gone quite pale, and looked worried.

"Are my toes going to fall off?" she asked nervously as Erik began bathing her feet in the warm water, "Will I be able to walk without my toes? How will I sell my matches if I can't walk?"

"Calm down, Christine," Nadir said, taking her small, pale hand in his larger, darker one, "It doesn't look too bad. You may need to lie in bed for a few days." Christine's eyes widened and she shook her head.

"Oh, no monsieur, I can't do that!" she cried, "I have to sell my matches or else Papa won't be able to buy any food or magic bottles, and he'll get angry!"

"Magic bottles?" said Erik, looking up from Christine's dainty feet. She nodded vigorously.

"Papa loves his magic bottles," she said, "He let me have a sip once, but I didn't like it so I spit it out. He called me ungrateful and hit me with his belt until I fell asleep." Erik gaped.

"He hits you?" he said, tears forming in his eyes. He didn't understand it! A monster like him deserved to be beaten, but why would someone harm such a beautiful little girl? Christine shifted uncomfortably.

"Only when I'm bad," she said softly, "Or when I haven't sold enough matches. Or... when he drinks a lot of magic bottles. But I love him! He's my Papa and I love him!" Erik nodded.

"I loved my mother," he said solemnly, "But she hated me. She would hit me too. Then one day she told me she never wanted to see me again. So I ran away. I was captured by Gypsies who exploited me as a freak. Then Nadir found me, and bought my freedom. Now I live here."

"You can live here too, Christine," said Nadir, "There's plenty of room." Christine's face brightened, then darkened.

"But what about Papa?" she asked. Nadir frowned.

"I'll offer your father some money and a job at my factory," he said, "If you decide to live with us you'll still be able to visit him, but only if you want to."

"And we'll all live happily ever after!" cried Christine, clapping her hands enthusiastically, "Thank you Monsieur Nadir! Thank you Angel!"

"I'm not an angel," said Erik, "I already told you that." Christine fixed him with her blue eyed gaze.

"You are to me, Erik," she said. A tear ran down the mask, and Christine reached her arms out to Erik for a hug. He obliged, sitting down beside her on the couch and holding her in his arms. They sat there for a long time, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the occasional splashing of Christine's little feet in the bucket of water. Nadir cleared the table and went to attend to some papers. At length, Christine rested her head on Erik's shoulder and closed her eyes.

"Will you sing me a lullaby, Erik?" she murmured. As an answer, Erik began to sing.

"Dodo, l'enfant do, L'enfant dormira bien vite Dodo, l'enfant do L'enfant dormira bientôt.

Une poule blanche Est là dans la grange. Qui va faire un petit coco Pour l'enfant qui va fair' dodo.

Dodo, l'enfant do, L'enfant dormira bien vite Dodo, l'enfant do L'enfant dormira bientôt.

Tout le monde est sage Dans le voisinage Il est l'heure d'aller dormir Le sommeil va bientôt venir."

Soon, little Christine was fast asleep. Erik carried her up to the guest bedroom and tucked her in. _"She's so pretty," _he thought, gently tucking a lock of golden hair behind her ear, _"Perhaps she'll be my friend. How odd that would be! Us, friends!" _Behind the mask, he was smiling. He blew out the candle and went to the door.

"Good night, dear Christine," he whispered, and closed the door.


End file.
